


Seabound

by waywardshire



Series: SeaBounding [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Mermaids, Multi, Sirens, The Hobbit AU, ewelock, for ewelock, gift hope you like it, i have some regrets, smaug is now a giant squid
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-22
Updated: 2013-11-22
Packaged: 2018-01-02 08:39:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1054745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waywardshire/pseuds/waywardshire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was a life that Bilbo Baggins had expected to lead after inheriting his mother’s bookshop, and this was not it. When he returns home to the Shire he discovers the fish and seagulls have entirely gone, and if that isn’t strange enough the barmy old lighthouse keeper insists only Bilbo can fix it. He quickly finds himself among a ragtag band of mermen and becomes the burglar in the company of the King under the Sea, and then something else entirely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seabound

**Author's Note:**

> This is a gift for the lovely Ewelock on Tumblr. Updates will be sporadic. There will be chapters with graphic sexual content, violence, and character death; I will put warnings for each chapter in the notes.

* * *

Thorin's hair drips down the side of the tub, impossibly dark, like ink on marble, flowing over his pale back and shoulders. Tattoos and scars fall across his body like the trenches of an old battle field, telling stories that Bilbo does not know. His tail is submerged under water, shiny and dark, cool to the touch and surprisingly smooth. The water looks like glass, shallow and clear, and the off-white marble shines in the early morning light. The shower curtains are neatly pulled away and an empty salt shaker lays discarded on the floor. The window is open and the old lace curtains float with the scents of a summer breeze.

Bilbo soaks in the sight of his untroubled expression, the way his dark black hair falls around his face, pale and scarred. He hesitates in the doorway, a shade envious of how regal yet peaceful Thorin looks. _It's almost unfair_ , Bilbo thinks, _how beautiful he is_. There is an underlying possessiveness, a selfish desire that is inflamed in Bilbo's mind seeing Thorin in his bathroom, yet he stays his place, a stranger in his own home.

"Are you going to come here, or stare all morning?" Thorin says a shade defensively, feeling a stab of embarrassment at the intensity of Bilbo's stare. It is the expression of someone intent on memorizing every inch to file the memory away. Bilbo pads in, his bare feet smacking quietly against the tile. The urge to say something foolish (to make promises he can't keep) cloys his throat; _I want to be with you. Terribly selfish, isn't it?_ So he simply says the words that he can speak, that don't suffocate him; "You came back." Bilbo leans on the edge of the tub, hands resting in his lap. Thorin sighs and leans forward, reaching forward and placing his right hand into Bilbo's hands, unclasping them with a tug.

"Come here." Bilbo shrugs and leans a bit closer, hovering carefully at the edge. "In." He asks. Thorin's voice sounds unnecessarily grave, but Bilbo can hear the softness underneath. He sheds his night clothes onto cool tile, dipping his fingers into the lukewarm water of the tub. Bilbo rests his hands on either side of the tub, hoisting in his left foot, and then his right with Thorin's hands securely on his hips. He is absurdly grateful his mother had bought the "giant claw footed monstrosity" as his father had called it. It had more than enough room for them. He sits down straddling Thorin's hips, feeling cool and smooth scales brush his back. Thorin kisses him, eyes closed and chaste. Bilbo smiles against him, returning the kiss with his tongue swiping Thorin's upper lip; Thorin obliges and opens his mouth and kisses him slowly and intimately. There is no direction, no hurry, lazy hands stroking swirling patterns across soft nakedness.

Thorin opens his eyes and Bilbo releases a breath he didn't know he was holding. They were blue, Bilbo remembers fondly. _His eyes were blue_.

When he was a boy, his mother told him that seafolk were the saviors of lost sailors and the stuff of tragic romances, and his father told him that seafolk were to be feared, always waiting to strike down sailors and capsize boats on dark and stormy nights. The truth was more complicated than that.

* * *

 

Over the misty and rain-drenched hills of Bree Bilbo can faintly see the distant and flickering lights of The Prancing Pony Inn. _7 hours in a blasted airplane and then this_ , he bemoans tiredly, fixing his hands more firmly against the steering wheel. His cheap and bitter truck stop coffee is long empty and his hands fidget restlessly against the steering wheel. _Serves me right for visiting so late, right mum?_

Hard and treacherous rain pelts his windshield, forcing him to squint to see the narrow strip of road through the heavy downpour. He curses the cold and miserable spring weather, his cheap rental car and his poor timing, flipping through radio stations until he gives up fiddling with the dials and takes a few calming breaths. _Confound this weather._

The Prancing Pony Inn is a stately Tudor style building surrounded by handsome centuries old white birch, balsam fir, and tamarack trees. Built with a stone foundation, strong wooden siding, and handsome bay windows, it seemed the ideal place to vacation. Despite the wretched weather his family vacations were frequently spent at the Prancing Pony and Bilbo always recalled the inn with no small measure of fondness.

"Hullo Barliman. Single room, please?" The innkeeper nods politely and finishes serving brew from the tap to the patrons in front of him, and then hands Bilbo a single brass key numbered 4 with a smile. "Down the hall to your right, Mister Baggins." Bilbo is both surprised and pleased that he is remembered in Bree.

"Thank you." He walked down the spacious hallway with walls cluttered with colourful and odd photos and paintings, making note of the faces he recognizes in the pictures and clippings. He unlocked his room and is silently pleased that his window faces the waterfront despite the poor weather. The moon dim behind the clouds and hangs low over the water. Bilbo closes the lace curtains and shuffles into his night clothes, and then collapses into the fresh linens with an appreciative groan. _I hope it clears up by morning._ He sets his alarm for a decent hour and dreams of nothing.

* * *

 

Bumpy roads twisted and curved around the rolling green hills, the sunrise breaking over the east, washing the sea with shades of gold, orange, red, purple, and blue. In the distance Bilbo could see tracks of farmland, quaint churches, and familiar whitewashed houses. The cool sea breezes lifted fraying curtain ends, unfixed shutters clattering in the wind. The roar of the waves grew dim and quiet over the tall, jagged cliffs. Bilbo noticed with growing curiosity that there were no seagulls or sea birds; no nests, and no birds.

"Odd." Bilbo changes the radio station and thinks nothing more of it. He eventually sees a familiar ship at sea; the _Shadow Fax_ , owned by the old lighthouse keeper who was rumoured to be getting on in the years, and really rather barmy. Despite this every good fisherman knew to ask the lighthouse keeper for the weather report before heading out; he was never wrong. _But what was his name again?_ Bilbo frowns at forgetting, feeling nostalgia and perhaps a bit of regret at leaving home so quickly.

The Shire was a quiet fishing town, with no particular claim to fame or juicy tidbits for travel blogs, or so Bilbo had been told. It was one of many fishing towns littering the shoreline; everything seemed to move more slowly there, and Bilbo liked it.

The older families ran farms, producing some of the best potatoes in the county or so it has been said, and fishing became a fond past time from bygone days. During the winter the town all but closed up shop; the busy season was between summer and fall when tourists came and harvest was reaped. She owned the only bookstore in the city, the first and only, as his mother would tell him proudly. Bilbo had loved the sea, and Bungo was often complaining Bilbo spent more time on the shore than at home. This only encouraged the tales his mother, Belladonna Baggins nee Took, would tell him of sea monsters, pirates, and treasure. His father, Bungo Baggins, told stories about his grandfather, one of the greatest fisherman that ever lived. Bilbo wasn't always sure what stories to believe, but he had come to know that his grandfather had in fact been an amazing fisherman, and that his mother enjoyed telling stories.

Bagshot row, which Bag End was proudly part of, was removed from the town by the Brandywine river. The curve of the bay and the Flats pond cut Bagshot row off from the rest of the township. It was not part of the town, but it was not part of the country either. There were many farms in the country, and most families raised cows and chickens. The Brandybucks raised goats and sheep for milk to turn to cheese and butter, and wool for spinning into thread and clothing. Cotton, corn, and tobacco were the most common crops. The Took clan raised all of these things, and were the largest family in and outside of the Shire.

 Bilbo pulled up to Bag End, and saw the groundskeeper Hamfast working in the garden. _Some things never change_. Bilbo thought fondly. _Most things in this town, in fact._

"Hullo Hamfast!" Hamfast waved back, dusted off his trousers and wiped his brow with a handkerchief as Bilbo hiked up the cobble stone path to the garden patch he was tending.

"Hullo, Mr. Baggins. Didn't expect to see you home so soon." Hamfast grinned, pulling the brim of his hat up.

"It's been to long." Bilbo replied smoothly. Hamfast hummed his agreement.

"Would you care for some tea? I'll clean up, of course."

Hamfast said.

"That sounds splendid." And it did sound wonderful. He spent hours talking with Hamfast, delighted to finally meet young Samwise, which he had heard so much about from in their correspondence. Belle arrived and berated him for not visiting since her and Hamfast's wedding, but fondness colors her tone. Bilbo is almost sorry at spending so much time away at seeing his friends and family settling down with families of their own, and a wistful longing pangs in his heart. He also feels relieved to see that his friends are contended and happy. They good naturedly tease him about his bachelorhood, ask him about his plans, and give their condolences for his loss.

* * *

Bilbo walked the shoreline at midday, ignoring the sweltering heat to wade across shallow tide pools to watch the crabs, fish, octopus, and other wildlife make homes in the crevices. He fished through the pools with curious fingers, rolling over stones and prying rock to see the creatures beneath. He sees jetsam and debris wash onto the shoreline; shards of glass, plastic, cans, pieces of garbage that were carelessly tossed overboard by lazy fishermen and careless tourists.

Bilbo conscientiously pockets a few sharp pieces of garbage to throw into the rubbish bins and continues sea combing, content to wade the shallow pools in relative solitude. He eventually spots a familiar piece of flotsam in the north, half a mile off the shoreline; the hulking remains of the Dale, an enormous fully rigged galley ship that had sunk in the shallow bay almost two hundred and fifty years ago during a violent mid-November storm. It was somewhat of a landmark, gutted by salt water and stripped by treasure hunters long ago.

It had been a merchant ship, and took all 130 hands down when it sunk. Curiously, no bodies were recovered in the cold salty water by the archaeologists that eventually came, nor did anyone in the town ever see any crewmen was ashore. It was rumoured to be haunted, and Belladonna delighted in telling stories about the crew and ship, equal parts legend and histories. The tourists enjoyed the lavish stories, and nobody ever really wondered about the fates of the men aboard. _The sea does not give up her dead_ , townsfolk would say. _She is a selfish mistress_. The setting sun over the Dale made it look beautiful and forboding all at once.

Bilbo looked back to the sea and heard a loud splash echo off the rocks. Enormous ripples appeared very, very close to the shoreline. It seemed to have come from near a small outcropping of rocks, and over the waves Bilbo swore he could hear some kind of muttering that sounded vaguely like talking. He looked back to the shore, and saw none of the trappings of beach goers; _it must be my imagination, then_. Bilbo looked back to the water and saw nothing, and feeling somewhat disappointed and confounded he begins his walk home.

He felt a stab of terror and a thrill of curiosity at another movement in the water, and the eyes that seem to follow him along the shoreline. He started walking faster, faking a calmness he did not posses in the uncertainty of the shadows twisting in the water until he can no longer write off the feeling of being watched; it is overwhelming, and crawls beneath his skin unpleasantly until he breaks out into a run.

He runs home, and spends the night fretting. The unnerved feeling lingers with him for days, even after he avows himself to avoiding the shoreline, at least until he can regain his courage. In hindsight, he feels irritated at himself for being scared by a shadow; a large fish, a piece of driftwood, a reflection off the water. _Nothing but my imagination_ , he thinks crossly. In the future he plans to pack snacks and water, obviously imagining impossible things. It was a dream; an accident of a wandering mind. _There is nothing in the water._

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> The Dale is based on the Whydah Galley, a pirate ship that sunk in 1717 off the coast of Massachusetts; it ran aground and was capsized. It's so cool! There is very few things more fun than googling pictures of shipwrecks, friends. I highly recommend it! I also suggest checking out the song Sitting on the Dock of the Bay by Otis Redding. Aye, you're a pirate now. B)
> 
> Looking for a beta? I really need help keeping my future/past tense usage consistent. 
> 
> Find me at Waywardshire on tumblr!  
> XOXOXOXO.


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